


With Many a Winding Turn

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Camaraderie, First Kiss, M/M, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Big Cass carried Enzo, and one time Enzo tried to carry Cass.  For a prompt by <a href="lilihierax.tumblr.com">Lilihierax</a>, who also made adorable art for it!  <a href="http://lilyyangart.tumblr.com/post/118042613969/four-scenes-from-a-short-story-spanning-time-keep">Check it out!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	With Many a Winding Turn

__ The road is long  
With many a winding turn  
That leads us to who knows where  
Who knows where.  
But I'm strong  
Strong enough to carry him  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother. 

The first time he isn't even Enzo yet, he's still Lorenzo, a kid who's a little too small and a lot too mouthy to be playing pick-up basketball on the streets of New York City. He's gotten a lot of bruises on the courts--and a lot of bruises off them, too, but he don't like to dwell on them. It's just the lumps you get when you're better than other people and they think they can teach you some fucking lesson about respect and knowing your place.

He's playing a game with a bunch of other kids, and it's going okay, his team is down by one when he drives to the basket and--look, he knows it's not a good idea to try and dunk, he knows that stupid rim’s too far away, but he can't help it, he sees it and he goes for it, like always. Halfway up he hears that voice in his head, the one that says _you dummy, you're never going to make it, you fucked it up again_ , but he still reaches, he still stretches, knowing it's hopeless--

And then there are big warm hands wrapped around his waist, and he's hoisted up the last few inches, and there's the rim, _there's the fucking rim,_ right in front of his face, and he slams the ball home, and it sounds like victory.

He comes down hard and whirls, and the hands on his waist let go and the guy backs away. He's tall, really tall, but in that gangly awkward way of a kid who grew faster than their confidence, and he's backing away like he thinks Lorenzo's gonna hit him (which he ain’t).

"Sorry," he says, but Lorenzo's flying high now, he bangs his chest into the guy's chest (well, into his belly, actually) and he yells "That was awesome!"

"It was?" The guy's starting to smile, and it turns his face from solemn to sweet. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Betcha ass it was," says Lorenzo. "We make a good team. What's your name?"

The game's breaking off, they're walking off the court. "I'm Colin," says the guy. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Which is so freaking quaint Lorenzo almost laughs, but he doesn't. 

He’s about to give his name in return, but then he pauses. ‘Cause “Lorenzo” suddenly doesn’t seem like a good enough name for a dude who just dunked on a NYC court. So: "I'm Enzo," he says. 

And from then on it's true.

* * *

Time goes by--a lot of time goes by--and Enzo finds himself in Florida with a golden ticket from Hunter and a chip on his shoulder. It's his second week there, and he's leaving a training session, and--okay, he don't mind getting beat up a little, that's part of the job, but being told he's a failure and he should just kill himself, he didn't exactly expect that when he came here. He got enough of that crap back home, he doesn't need to hear it from some dipshit trainer who thinks he's a big shot because he's been on tv and Enzo hasn't. 

Enzo's on his way out of the building, and there's tears in his eyes--because he's _mad,_ you know, furious that he can't get away from those shitty voices saying _you're a failure, you should give up, you'll never be anything_ \--and he doesn't see the bench right in front of him and he trips and goes sprawling face-first.

He's lying there, staring at the floor, and for just a second, _just a second,_ he thinks maybe it's time to pack up and head back home. But then he punches the floor and rolls over, because god damn it, _no_ \--and there's someone standing over him, looking down.

Enzo's seen him around a few times, here and there, and didn't make the connection. He's filled out a lot and his hair's longer now, and--well, to be honest, Enzo's been too pissed off since he got here to really _see_ anyone. But the guy bends down and holds out his hand to help Enzo up, and this time Enzo sees his eyes. They're gentle and sympathetic, without that bullshit pity Enzo sees a lot of, and Enzo finally recognizes him.

"You probably don't remember me," says Colin. 

Enzo lets himself be helped to his feet. The ground feels firmer, somehow. The sky closer all of a sudden. "Sure I do," he says. "I remember you."

* * *

Colin becomes Cass, and they become Cass and Enzo, and people start cheering for them, which is weird, but also about time. Things are going great, which is why it sucks big time when Enzo’s leg goes and gets injured on him.

Cass takes care of him a lot while he’s hobbling around, and Enzo appreciates it--really he does!--but it also makes him kind of crabby, getting treated like he’s some kind of baby who can’t take care of himself. Plus it makes him mad to see Cass alone in the ring without him, it ain’t _right._

What if Cass gets used to wrestling without him? 

What if Cass is _better_ without him?

Enzo’s not usually what you’d call a deep thinker, but he’s got way too much free time right now and he’s thinking stuff he doesn’t really like thinking, and it puts him on edge.

So one night after rehab (it didn’t go well, Enzo doesn’t want to talk about it), he’s trying to get up the stairs to their shitty hotel room, and yeah, he’s struggling a bit. He’s tired, and the stairs are steep, and he trips and starts to fall backwards a little.

Cass scoops him up from behind and hoists him up the last few stairs, like a kid. _Like a kid!_

Enzo kinda sees red as Cass puts him down, he knows he shouldn’t but _damn it_. He whirls on Cass and socks him in the arm. “Don’t fucking do that,” he snarls. “I can take care of myself.”

He feels like an idiot as he stumps down the hall to the hotel room, especially when he realizes Cass isn’t following him. He looks back and Cass is standing with his arms crossed, glaring.

“So I shoulda just let you fall and crack your head open, huh?” he says. He’s not yelling, but his voice is louder than usual and it bounces off the walls of the hallway in weird ways. “I’d be a hell of a tag team partner if I didn’t bother to catch you.”

“You’re doing fine as a singles wrestler,” says Enzo, and it sounds a hell of a lot more forlorn than he likes. He fumbles for the key, gets the door open. He hears footsteps coming down the hall, but he doesn’t look up.

“Hey,” says Cass as Enzo barges into the hotel room. “Hey, ‘Zo.”

Enzo sits down hard on the bed and glares at the wall.

“I’m not,” says Cass. “And even if I were, I don’t _want_ to be a fucking singles wrestler. I like being on a team.” He pauses. “I like being on _your_ team.”

Now Enzo feels even more like an idiot. He picks at the coverlet on the bed for a minute, staring at it. “That’s cool,” he says, and that’s not the most eloquent thing to say, but Cass seems to get that it means “sorry” and “thank you” at the same time, and some of the tension seems to go out of the room. 

Enzo clears his throat. “You know, I was thinking about maybe growing my beard out,” he says. “What do you think?”

Cass gives him a long, measuring look. “Good idea,” he says. “It’ll make you look sophisticated. Cosmopolitan. A debonair man of the world.”

“Really?” says Enzo. That’s even better than he’d expected.

Cass sits down next to him on the bed. “Nah, not really,” he says, but he kisses the side of Enzo’s head, a brotherly smack, and that takes some of the sting out of it. “Go for it, ‘Zo.”

Enzo thinks those are words to live by, and even more so when Cass says them.

* * *

It's been a tough match. The Lucha Dragons are no pushovers. But nothing's gonna stop Cass and Enzo from becoming the Number One Contenders.

The crowd is crazy on their side, and when Sin Cara is knocked down and Enzo starts to climb the turnbuckle, they go nuts. To be honest, Enzo's got no long-term plans for what he's gonna do once he reaches the top of the turnbuckle; it was there and he went for it. Now that he's up there it's surprisingly high, but you can't climb the turnbuckle and then turn around and climb back down, right? Wuss move. So. Here he is. No turning back now, that's for sure.

He launches himself out, and--shit, he's going to fall short, that's going to look fucking pathetic. The man that forgot about gravity, they'll call him. He has time for a brief flash of anger, a spark of remorse: _sorry for letting you down, Cass._

And then there are hands under him, adding height, adding velocity, adding the energy Enzo needs to connect. Cass lifts him, and for an instant they sail together on a chorus of cheers, with Cass's feet firmly on the ground and Enzo reaching for the sky.

He's a star that will never fall, not with Cass there.

* * *

When they win the title, he throws his arms around Cass, he can't believe it, it's too good. Cass lifts him onto his shoulders and he towers over everyone, he's higher than he's ever been before. Enzo hoists the belt above his head and the audience erupts. 

"We did it!" Cass screams. "You and me, we did it!"

It's the most bizarre thing, but for the first time ever Enzo can't think of a damn thing to say. There are tears running down his face, that's so weird.

"How you doing?" Cass bellows at all of Full Sail.

 _Fantastic,_ thinks Enzo. _I'm doing fucking fantastic._

* * *

For such a big guy, Cass is kind of a lightweight when it comes to booze. Enzo's pleasantly buzzed when they finally leave the celebration party, belts still around their waists, and head back to their hotel room. Cass, on the other hand...

"We won," Cass says, smiling dopily at him. He slings an arm around Enzo's shoulder and _leans_ affectionately, and Enzo staggers. "We really won."

"We sure did," agrees Enzo, fishing for the key. 

Cass keeps leaning, and the lean turns into a slide, and then he's sitting on the floor in the hallway, looking faintly surprised. "Need to lie down," he mutters, and does so.

"No, no, no," says Enzo, unlocking the door. "Get inside." But Cass is limp and relaxed, and not standing up again. "Come on, work with me here," says Enzo, trying to get him to his feet.

"I hope that shithead DeMott was watching," mutters Cass. "I hope he watched you win." He's all legs and arms, but somehow Enzo manages to sling him over his shoulders in something like a fireman's carry and they stagger over the threshold together. Enzo steers him to his bed with a great deal of wobbling and drops him on it; Cass hits the mattress with all his limbs flung out, then pats the belt slung around his waist, grinning like a loon.

"We both won," Enzo corrects him. There's a cut on Cass's cheekbone and it makes him look lopsided and vulnerable. Enzo feels a sudden impulse to kiss it.

"Couldn't have done it without you," says Cass, which is such a loopy thing to say that Enzo actually laughs, and Cass blinks at him owlishly. "You're what keeps me reaching." He sighs, a long low sound. "I love you, man."

Enzo laughs again. "I love you too, brother."

"No," says Cass his voice ridiculously earnest, "I mean _I love you_ ," and for the second time that night Enzo can think of nothing to say, he just stares at Cass. Cass smiles, sweet and a little sad. "Sorry, buddy, maybe I shoulda kept my big mouth shut, but." He closes his eyes. "We won, and I feel like nothing can go wrong tonight with you here, and so I just..."

"Sh." Enzo kisses his forehead. Then he kisses each of his closed eyes. Then--he's trembling, this is such a weird night--he kisses Cass's mouth, very gently. Cass tastes like beer and blood. "We'll talk about it in the morning."

"We will?" Cass mumbles. He doesn't sound sad anymore.

Enzo lies down next to him, suddenly too tired to stay upright another moment. "Sure thing," he says. “Realest champs in the room.”

Cass's arms wrap around him, and they fall asleep with the belts still around their waists, gleaming gold as the future in the darkness.


End file.
